


Shenanigans à la Virtuoso

by starkind



Series: Genius In The Making [2]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), DC Cinematic Universe, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Boys Kissing, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, MIT Era, Skiing, Slow Build, Students, Teenage Drama, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use, Underage Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-27 03:28:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5032006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkind/pseuds/starkind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>MIT, 1986.<br/>Tony Stark and Bruce Wayne deal with studying, partying, and growing up.<br/>It doesn't help that they kind of have different opinions on the importance of each.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to part II.  
> If you haven't read part I, it might make sense to catch up on how the boys came to be roommates at MIT.  
> Now it's time to find out more about Tony and Bruce's daily life on campus.

In 1986, they went and got themselves an upgrade from their stuffy, undergrad room.

Thanks to their inherited statuses and a bit of persuasion and charm, they were able to rent a two-bedroom apartment inside Tang Hall. The high rise building on Memorial Drive overlooked the Charles River and offered a spectacular view of Boston's skyline. Tony Stark had deemed it appropriate as soon as he had finished his tour around the 700 square feet, ready-furnished apartment. 

"Outdoor sports lawn, barbeque areas, lounge and rec areas – why the hell have we been rotting away at that miserable nest for so long, Moosh? This is where it's at!" Tony stood by the opened window of the living room area and lit one of his meanwhile ever-present cigarettes. Stark Jr then eyed his silent comrade with curious eyes as he blew a few lopsided rings into the air.

Bruce's astute eyes wandered around, took in the two separate bedrooms, the kitchen area, and the bathroom with both shower and bathtub. Face stoic, the Gothamite then gave a curt nod and Tony grinned. It did not take them long to get moved in.

When Bruce went to the laundry room the first time and discovered the fully equipped exercise room in the basement right next to it, he did not expect his life to take another direction. Soon enough, however, working out became Bruce's catalyst against his underlying anger issues. Not only his mood but also his physique improved drastically over the course of the first months.

Tony never questioned as to why Bruce willingly did their laundry and was gone for at least an hour and a half, three times a week. He did complain though when Wayne managed to shrink a lot of their clothes by washing them too hot, or spoiling the whole load by not paying attention to one of Tony's many colored shirts in the white wash. Dismayed, the New Yorker scion held up one of his now pink pairs of socks.  
  
“You'd make a lousy housewife, Moosh, sorry to tell you that.”  
Tony had to duck when Bruce hurled an equally pinkish pair of boxer shorts after him.  
“Brat.”

* * *

  
Spurred by the changes in self-esteem that came with lifting weights, Bruce went and bought a muscle car in form of a 1969 Chevrolet Camaro.

The convertible was black, had white racing stripes and rally tires. It was also one of the first things for which Wayne Jr went and splurged on his family's money just for fun. When Tony, who had just turned 16 and was unable to get behind the wheel in Massachusetts due to local regulations, saw his friend's ride for the first time, he beamed with delight and a trifle of envy.

"Damn, this car's totally boss - like, really really ace! Let's go take it for a spin, c'mon!"  
  
With a borrowed pair of Tony's Wayfarers, Bruce granted him his wish. They followed Charles River all the way down Memorial Drive, cruised past Magazine Beach and Riverbend Park, and enjoyed the breeze whipping at their hair. At some point, doing 80 mph on an empty road, Tony raised his arms in the air, threw his head back, and whooped out loud. It caused his driver to smirk and Tony to give him a full, joyous smile.  
  
“This is the life, B, just you and me. It'll be like that forever!”  
  
Even if Wayne did not say anything, his expression was one of contentment. He took a turn at JFK Street and drove them past the huge premises of stately Harvard University. Bruce pointed his head towards the venerable building. “You can be lucky then. I almost ended up here.” At one of Bruce's rare self-revelations, Tony all but bristled with disgust in his seat.

“Ugh, no! You're no desk jockey or some lame-ass lawyer dude. No, here's what – you're meant for something big! F'real!”  
  
Such youthful intensity earned him a shake of the head from his elder friend.  
“ _You're_ genius material, not me. You should just start to channel it more. Better.”  
Behind his sunglasses, Bruce's eyes were unreadable, but it got Tony to fall quiet for a while.

Once they were back on Massachusetts Avenue, Bruce drove past MIT and crossed the river to head for the theater district he knew Tony loved so much. On Thayer Street, Stark Jr hung out of his seat and tried to memorize as many of the various clubs and bars as possible. “After parties, Moosh, I heard this is the place for them. We need to come back here! Soon!”  
  
The irony of his counter statement might not have hit the young undergrad, but it hit Bruce Wayne.  
"We'll see about that."  
He then drove them back to campus, much to Tony's chagrin.  
 


	2. Chapter 2

While Tony began to discover the joys of smoking weed with a couple of students after class, his roommate worked hard on getting through his midterm exams. Wayne's grades were solid if a bit mediocre compared to Tony's, but Bruce evened it out with regular attendance. When Stark Jr was not skipping classes or getting high, he was also absent during most of the nights.

Rumor had it he spent most of them at The Channel, a nightclub that was located at the edge of the Fort Point Channel, separating South Boston from the Financial District. On a Friday, Bruce returned from classes early around noon, to find the door to Tony's bedroom closed. The youngster re-emerged around lunchtime, hungover and chain smoking, to get his hands on whatever Bruce had concocted in their kitchen.  
  
He grinned when a pint of freshly squeezed orange juice awaited him on the counter, as usual.  
“Always lookin out for me, Moosh, where'd I be without you?”  
With a pointed look, Bruce scratched the remains out of the pan and shoved the plate over.  
  
“Rotting away under a bridge probably.”  
It prompted Stark to toast him with his already half-empty glass.  
“Probably.”  
  
He then began to douse his eggs in ketchup and shoveled them into his mouth.  
“You have to come along today. It's the weekend, and there's gonna be an all-ages show.”  
The Gothamite sat opposite of him with his plate and dissected a clump of eggs with a fork.

“It's not my thing, really.”  
Mouth full, Tony threw him a rotten stare that seemed to say 'oh, please' and munched on.  
“Don't knock it till you tried it. You'll never find out by rotting away here on the sofa.”  
  
As many excuses as Bruce tried to find in order to stay at home, Tony countered them all in his typical motormouth way. Eventually, Wayne caved in, still convinced he was making a mistake. A fifteen-minute drive in Bruce's Camaro later, they parked behind the venue at 4:30 pm.

The Channel was built like a classical roadhouse, with a large wooden corral that gave a good view on the stage even from the far end. Needless to say, Tony Stark did not care for back seat places at all. He dragged his best friend through the crowd, up to a 4' high stage that faced a 20' square sunken dance floor, surrounded by drink rails and tables with padded stools.

“It's called the pit!”  Tony's voice sounded overly excited as he yelled up into Bruce's ear. “And it's so rad when bands are playing, everybody's jumping and the whole thing's shaking!” Bruce Wayne would have worded it differently but chose to hold his tongue and examine the rest of the location. There were about a dozen bar stations, and a concession stand that sold hot dogs, candy, soda, and popcorn.

“What's in there?”  
Bruce pointed towards a semi-private looking room behind the stand.  
“Video game room. There's even a VIP room way back, but they won't let us in there.”

Equipped with soft drinks, they made their way over to the games room where Tony humored Bruce and did a few rounds with him. From the highly frequented Hard Drivin' arcade machine, over to a battle for the best score on Space Invaders, it seemed as if the Gothamite had fun. Tony then pocketed his change and bounced on his heels.

“C'mon, let's go back – The Detours are playing in a couple of minutes.”  
  
With a final, longing gaze back at the machines, Bruce allowed Tony to drag him away. Meanwhile, the club had filled even further and became a mass of sweaty punks, metal heads, goth kids and the occasional hippie slamming into each other. Before Wayne Jr was able to grouse at the unpleasant situation, he lost sight of his friend in the crowd.

On stage, the punk band was in full action, and people around him were freaking out. It did not take Bruce long to spot Tony going crazy high up in the mosh pit. The first time the skinny 5'7 adolescent went stage diving among a surge of people twice his size and age, Bruce almost had a seizure. The mop of dark hair soon emerged, its owner grinning like a fool.

“HELL YEAH, MOOSH! C'MON, TRY IT OUT!”  
  
With determination, Bruce shook his head no. He was too slow to keep a hold of the bouncy teenager, and Tony once more was off towards the stage. Like a hawk, Wayne watched him trying to worm his way up again, only to be stopped by a huge guy with a bald head. The elder had a good four inches on the small Stark heir, and Bruce could smell trouble brewing from afar.

He pushed his way through the moshing masses and came to stand behind Tony as a backup. Over the blaring music, most of what the angry skinhead said went unheard. Bruce then tried for de-escalation. “It's all good, okay? Mind your own business, just like we do.” His meanwhile improved physique of 6'1, broad shoulders and fearless stance failed to do the trick, however.

“You'll be getting a good knuckle sandwich, pal if that little shit here doesn't stay put.”

The Channel's bouncers, known for playing it rough, got to them before there was any harm to either party involved. Both Tony and Bruce soon fund themselves escorted out on the back parking lot. Incensed, Tony began to make a fuss and raved in Bruce's grip. “My old man's gonna shut this fuckin place down, you got that? D'you even know who I am?!”  
  
The bouncers just laughed in his furious, red face.  
“Shut it, kiddo, and don't show your bratty little ass round here again, you hear?”  
On their way home, with Tony sulking in the passenger seat, Bruce deemed the whole underground arts community not to his liking.

Stark Jr, however, would continue to go back as often as he could, with the help of his many fake ID's, and a general lack of common sense.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Info on The Channel club by Wikipedia


	3. Chapter 3

“Hey Wayne, stop jerking off in there, other people need to take a piss, too, y'know?!”

Rattling on the doorknob. Bruce was quick to sniff and wipe a sleeve over his eyes, angry. He slid off the closed toilet lid, unlocked the bathroom door, and yanked it open. Outside stood Tony with an infuriating, lewd expression on his face. It immediately fell when he caught a closer look of his roommate.

“Whoa there, wassup?”  
Tony put a hand on his friend's arm. With force, the Gothamite tore away, head turned away from him.  
“Nothing!”

Persistent, Tony's hand remained around the oversized sweater. A little piece of paper fell out of Bruce's hand, hidden inside too long sleeves. A wrinkled, sepia photograph. Dumbfounded, the Stark heir let go and watched as Wayne bent down and grabbed it with haste. “... Bruce?” Stubborn bangs flopped vigorously as the latter shook his head and turned to hide the picture in a drawer of his desk.

Cautious, Stark Jr tiptoed after him and watched his back. For a moment, Bruce just stood there, gripped the backrest of the chair tight, and fought for composure. Quiet footsteps moved behind him. “Has it... been today?” When his throat did not stop feeling constricted, the Gothamite just nodded, barely visible. “Ten years ago. No big deal, I just...”

Without warning, Tony placed a hand on his shoulder, careful and hesitant.

Physical contact between them was a rare commodity, apart from the occasional brush of arms in the confines of the bathroom or kitchen. Sometimes, there would be a kick to the legs on the couch, whenever Tony's Walkman blasted his music too loud for Bruce liking. If Tony felt especially bold in return, he would go and mock-punch his roommate's growing biceps.

Right there and then, Bruce did not pull away, however, and so Tony put his other hand on his shoulder, too, and stepped closer until he was able to lean his forehead against Wayne's nape. He inhaled a whiff of shower gel and something that was unique to Bruce and his skin.  
  
“When I've graduated, Imma go on vacation. To California, learn to surf. Wanna come along?”  
The angry tears that had once more threatened the corners of Bruce's eyes began to diminish.  
“I might.”

His voice was rough and scratchy. Tony nodded against Bruce's vertebrae and rubbed the grown out, developed shoulders under his palms a couple of times. “You're gonna look so buff on a surfboard, I better start catching up before all eyes are gonna be on you.” Before Bruce had to find words to match Tony's quip, the shorter boy removed himself out of the close proximity and left the room.

When the Stark heir came back from the bathroom, Wayne's face was as blank as usual, with no traces of the previous occurrence. The little sepia picture did not make another appearance for the rest of the day.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All credits for this chapter go to the never-ending source of creativity that is Batsocks. I wasn't sure it'd work, but as it turned out, you were right (as usual).

One late Saturday night in autumn, Bruce got a call from a nearby police station.

Tony Stark had been caught illegally operating a motor vehicle with a BAC level of .02 %, and was cited for a DUI. Said motor vehicle was nothing else than Bruce Wayne's latest, beloved possession. “A patrol caught him parking upon a sidewalk as he was relieving himself against the vehicle.” On the other end of the line, Bruce's fingers tightened around the receiver.  
  
“He... peed on the car?”

The officer told him they had taken young Tony into custody to sleep off his inebriation. “In case you wish to press charges against Mister Stark for theft or vandalism, you need to do so in person. Please bring your ID and your vehicle documents along.” Bruce wiped the back of his free hand over his forehead. “That won't be necessary. When can he leave?”  
  
“He'll be released on bail. We have to contact his parents to settle matters.”

“No, no, I can.. I will take care of that. At what time can I pick him up?”  
“Feel free to come by as soon as possible.”  
“Thank you, officer. But, one more question, please... he didn't pee _in_ the car, right?”

After Bruce hung up, he paced around their apartment, seething. He had bought the fancy sports car not even a month ago, and Tony had been fretting the whole time about not being able to drive. At the way the Stark scion had pulled off such an audacious stunt, Wayne decided to give him hell. Instead of heading over to pick his fraudulent friend up, he did the first thing that came to his revenge-set mind: He went back to bed.

His sleep was plagued by nightmares that centered around getting the smell of urine out of the precious leather seats.

The next morning, 8 am sharp, Bruce Wayne entered the local police station; clean-shaven and wearing his best, preppy clothes. A big, meaty officer sat down with him to sort out the situation. “Binge drinking, no seat belts, and most of all no license whatsoever. He'll have to attend driver’s education classes, as well as a month or more of local community service.“

In the harsh neon light, Bruce squinted at the massive officer and his hairy forearms.  
“Is there any way to avoid this going public or official routes? I'd hate to involve his parents.”  
In the end, after some name dropping, Bruce paid a $5,000 bail cash without complaint.

He had schooled his face into a blank mask, once the frazzled and hungover young New Yorker got escorted towards him, clothes rumpled and his hair a mess. The faint shadow of stubble graced Tony's adolescent chin and cheeks, and his eyes were small and bloodshot. The stern officer closed the metal doors behind them with a loud clank. Tony flinched; even more so when there was a firm hand on his shoulder.

Bruce's grip was unwavering, though he did not look at his friend but at the officer instead. The elder man pointed at the culprit. “I hope you've learned your lesson, young man. Underage drinking and driving look bad on college applications, job applications, or for requests for some types of financial aid.” At that, Tony Stark just laughed in his face. Bruce twisted a fist further into the back of his jacket.  
  
“Thank you, officer, for your help and your discretion. I'll make sure he won't do it again.”  
  
Their drive back to campus was a silent, strained one. Once Bruce had been assured of the well-being of his PS baby, he made a point in ignoring the pale-faced, miserable countenance next to him on the passenger seat for the longest time. Eventually, he decided to vent his ire. "You're the most pathetic, screwed up, imbecile..." His growl got more vocal with each new word, and Tony groaned and massaged his temples.  
  
"Spare me, killer, I'm already feelin like shit, y'know?"  
Wayne Jr gripped the wheel tight as Tony hiccuped and covered his mouth with his palm.  
"I swear to God, if you're gonna start puking in here, I'll throw your sorry butt out right on the spot."

Mouth clamped shut, Stark Jr slid deeper into the seat and buried his head in his hands. 

* * *

Back at their place, Bruce went for a workout session to release his pent-up aggressions, while Tony staggered into his bed, clothes reeking of smoke, alcohol, and sweat, and conked out. Once he woke with a less mighty hangover, he still felt very much under the weather. Bruce stood in front of his bed with a bucket and a sponge. Both items clattered to the floor, causing Tony to cover his ears with his pillow.

"Up and at'em, Boozo. You're gonna give the Chevy back the respect it deserves. Sponge wash, tires included. I'll keep an eye on you."

Tony squinted up at him in disbelief and pain.   
"Forgettaboutit."  
Bruce suddenly wore a very lethal smile.

"Sure. I mean, I can ring your parents, let them know they owe me five grand, and have them open a whole can of whoop ass for you. Better?"

Half an hour later, young Wayne sat on campus, enjoying the Indian Summer in a deck chair with long legs stretched out, and a satisfied expression. In sordid amusement, he watched his shorter companion trying to reach a spot amidst the huge bonnet. Tony wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. Dirty water from the sponge dripped down and soiled his shirt.  
   
"God, I hate you."  
Wayne crossed his ankles and his hands behind his head at the same time.  
"You missed a spot. No, no, far more to the right...no, yes... right there."

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once more, a heartfelt shout-out to Batsocks for the 'study group project' prompt. It gave me lots of opportunities to read about things on physics which I've never heard about. Oh, and the MIT Department of Materials Science and Engineering must be a terrific place. With or without Tony Stark.

When Tony attempted to spend more time with his friend on campus, Bruce was eager, but not on the same terms.

"I'm not gonna hang around boozing with you. And I'm not your personal cabbie to pick your sorry ass up late at night either. You either work with me, or you're on your own." And so the two of them got signed up for a semester of mathematics for materials scientists and engineers. Topics included linear algebra, calculus of several variables, ordinary and partial differential equations, theory of distributions, and Fourier analysis.

"This is lame stuff, Moosh, c'mon."  
Said boy narrowed his eyes until Tony sighed and plopped down next to him on their couch.  
"It's not. We're still lacking a sophomore subject, and I'd rather do a lab project than just a dull paper!"

The first time they set a foot into the Department of Materials Science and Engineering at the undergraduate teaching laboratory, Tony was as well-behaved and reserved as possible. Once the class of 48 students got divided into six groups, he began to warm up to his little squad. 

"Kay, guys, you're all lucky cause you got a real genius in your group."  
The four other students all looked at each other in wary bafflement. Bruce took a deep breath.  
“Tone it down a few notches, genius, this is not the time or the place.”

Their professor interrupted the get together by distributing assignments on paper. "All experiments run at the same time, grouped into three topical themes. Each lab group will conduct one experiment under each theme and performs three experiments per week. Your groups will be totaling to twelve experimental sessions over the course of the semester."

The group around Bruce and Tony consisted of two black boys with a similar haircut, a girl with a huge pair of brackets and too short bangs, and a weedy red-haired guy with horn-rimmed glasses, who was even taller than Bruce, and had a hunched-over pose no matter if he sat or stood. Stark Jr grabbed his coat and looked around.

“Alright crew, let's go out for some grub. Ain't nobody gonna be able to work in this rat's hole.”  
The girl made a smacking noise with her mouth and inspected Tony from head to toe.  
“I don't think that's what Professor Hobbs had in mind for the very first lecture.”

Her voice was grating and caused Tony to scrunch up his face. He cast his friend a look. When Bruce ever so slightly shook his head, Tony threw his jacket back on the table and sighed. “Okay, then, let's do introductions first. This is Bruce, I'm Tony, and we're both not doing the reporting or recording of this whole project thingy. Oh, and did I mention I was a genius?”

The two boys with the similar haircuts introduced themselves as Mike and Darrell Harris, fraternal twins at that, and stated they would be alright with taking care of the necessary documentation of their projects over time. Tony exchanged grateful fist bumps with them. The girl still wore a peeved look, but kept on stealing glances at an unsuspecting Bruce Wayne. She got around to tell the group her name was Melanie, linear algebra was her thing, and that she had no time to do many extra hours because of her temp work at a local animal shelter.

“I'm Henley, and I've done experiments on thermodynamics and force spectroscopy last semester.”  
Bruce thanked the tall, quiet boy next to him with a brief, nondescript nod.  
He also kept a hand on Tony's re-emerging fist bump to avoid delicate Henley taking a hit.

“Okay, let's see what themes and topics are on for the next weeks, and which ones are ours.”  
  
Their group got Quantifying Thermodynamic Properties of Materials as a main theme, and much to Tony's surprise, it was the quiet and reserved Bruce who went on distributing tasks. “Melanie, can you and Henley go and research on the topic of 'Magnetic Work'? That way, Mike and Darrell could take care of 'Thermal Energy Storage', and Tony and I will set up and prepare the necessary experiment stages.”

Five heads nodded back at him in unison.  
They did a brief sighting of all materials needed until the group parted ways two hours later.  
While Tony wanted to accompany the Harris' brothers for a game of basketball down the street, Bruce wanted to get the Chevy washed.

“You and your car schtick, Moosh. Alright, Imma see you at home.”

Wayne Jr then had his second face-off with Ty Stone later that afternoon at a petrol station 1.5 miles away from campus, at 294 Prospect Street. He was alone, just like the elder boy, and their eyes met over the gas pump. Eyes full of envy and hatred, Ty glared at the convertible. Upon the nasty little smirk that played on Bruce's lips, the other boy jutted out his chin.  
  
“What'chu grinnin at, punk?”  
The Gothamite leaned against his big black Chevrolet Camaro and crossed his ankles.  
“That butt ugly, piss yellow excuse of a motorcycle you got there.”  
  
With a smug expression, Bruce put the fuel filler neck hose back into its place.  
“Oh yeah? Better watch out I'm not wiping the street with your ass one day, you dickhead!”  
As he got in behind the wheel of his freshly waxed convertible, Bruce slipped on a pair of shades that used to belong to Tony.

He made a point in revving the powerful engine of his Camaro a couple of times and grinned at the seething boy next to his 1984 Yamaha Enduro. “Sure. Call me once you've made it to something real with four wheels.” He pulled out of the petrol station with screeching tires. A glimpse into the rear-view mirror revealed how Stone nearly tripped over the fuel hose after raving at the disappearing car.

When he got back to their apartment, Tony wondered why Bruce was in a surprisingly good mood, and had even brought along two Slush Puppies. The usually serious Gothamite could even be heard whistling as he went back to his due lecture notes of multivariable calculus, triple integrals, and divergence theorem.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once more in the name of science!

Derivative Structures and Laser Diffraction were the topics for the second lab week project. Even if Tony Stark had been derisive about doing the group study semester at first, he became all the more enthralled by the possibility of legally being able to wreak havoc on the university's applied sciences division, and getting away with it in the name of research.

Professor Hobbs walked in on the group's lab room, just as young Tony sat upon the working table, wide-legged and balancing on his knees. A pair of huge goggles was upon his nose, obscuring most of his face, and he was wrangling a horrendous looking apparatus that emitted red laser rays onto a far away, crystal object. The setup for a laser diffractometer was not by the books, but rather a Stark Jr special creation.

The elder lady looked down over her glasses and put the handouts for her students aside.  
“What on earth is going on here?”  
At her unexpected entry and voice, the young inventor to-be yelped out in surprise.

Tony's hand slipped and caused the beam expander to fall out of place. The piercing laser ray wandered up along the wall, left a scorching burnt line square along the wallpaper before it caught up in the dark blue curtains at the window. A brief but explosive gust of chemical reaction, then the fabric began to smolder.

“Oops.”  
Stark Jr pushed his goggles far up on his forehead and examined the unplanned outcome.  
“That's interesting... thought they'd be fireproof. Make a note, Mike. Dar – got that on tape?”

In the corner, Mike and Darrell had watched the spectacle with interest, though they took a few steps back from where they had been commenting and videotaping the experiment for their logbook. Darrell held the huge VHS camera steady and threw Tony a thumbs up.

“Hey, yo, Tones - the roof, the roof, the roof is on fire!”

Four pairs of eyes went to look up to confirm Mike's observations. The latter then whooped out and beatboxed to a non-existent melody, which caused Tony to bop along and grin down at the two brothers in victorious pride at the commotion all around. Like a madwoman, Professor Hobbs rushed for the fire extinguisher and doused the complete area in white foam mere moments later.

Mike Harris applauded her, while Darrell made sure to capture all those precious moments on camera.

When Bruce, Melanie, and Henley returned from where they had been performing the necessary mathematical Fourier transform of a simple object transmission function in the lab next door and wanted to compare notes, they stopped in the doorway, flabbergasted, and looked around. Tony cast his best friend a grin like a cat having just eaten the family's canary.  
  
“Hiya Moosh, how's _your_ experiment coming along?”  
  
Speechless, Bruce took in the state of the smoke-filled, foamed laboratory. He then shared a look with both Melanie and Henley, who in turn stared from their frazzled professor over to a triumphant Tony Stark atop the workbench, striking a superhero pose.

“ _We_ got some weird science here alright.”

An invoice in the amount of $4.500 was sent to Mister Howard Stark at his Stark Industries division in New York two days later, to cover the necessary expenses for the renovation of lab room 3 at the MIT Department of Materials Science and Engineering. It resulted in a direct money transfer two days later, together with a rather generous donation to the university's fund.

The same day, Anthony Stark himself received the very first mail to his P. O. box.  
It was a card sent by his father's secretary. Simple and white, it read two sentences.  
_'Hard to see what all the fuss is about. Remember to always write it down for science. H. S.'_

Tony pretended to chuck the card aside with a grin, but Bruce knew his friend kept it inside the door of his closet, pinned to the mirror.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Winter semester brought a lot of cold temperatures in Massachusetts. At 33 degrees, the sideways were piled with snow, even graduate students were having snowball fights outside on campus, and snowmen were popping up on MIT's lawns; many of them of the obscene kind. For Tony and Bruce, it also brought the fourth and final week of their lab project.

The study group, meanwhile a little sworn in clique, had been relocating their meetings ever so often at a café outside of campus. Even Melanie Taylor had been in favor of warm temperatures, the smell of freshly baked cookies, and hot chocolate. “Okay, since we haven't gotten the best results in Phase Transitions last week, this week's gonna be important. Phase Diagrams is the new topic, and we need results.”

Bruce nibbled on a piece of hazelnut cookie and washed it down with a huge gulp of black coffee. His caffeine addiction had sprouted and gotten fostered over the course of the last semester when Tony bought a brand new Mr. Coffee machine for Bruce's birthday in February. Stark Jr himself had a rather unhealthy obsession with Jolt Cola, and the bottom drawer of their fridge held a decent stack of the sugar-energy drink.

“Thanks to Mel, we don't have any preliminary results on Eutectics yet... one of those damn hamsters at the shelter's having the sniffles again or what?“ Tony's jibe caused Darrell to grin at him, and Melanie to cast them both a very rotten look. Her eyes then narrowed to slits. “Shut up, Anthony. May I remind you that the VSM study was your own screw-up last week?”  
  
She called him like that on purpose; it was her way of getting back at him. Tony shrugged.  
“Yeah, but only cause Brucie here forgot to tell me to get my hands on a DSM.”  
His unapologetic smugness caused his roommate to cast him a sinister glare.  
  
“I told you _twice_ to bring a differential scanning magnetometer. Go have your brain checked.“  
Tony let the topic slide as he recognized Bruce's seriously pissed tone and shrugged again.  
“Anyhoo, how's the memo coming along, guys?”

Each group had to come up with a lab notebook at the end of the course, which would serve them as a reference during the final exam much later in finals week. Mike and Darrell were doing a meticulous job at gathering all information of their works and provided their comrades with copies on each of the four assignments. The first two weeks had been easy; a poster presentation and a journal article.

The Harris' boys were creative and innovative, granting their group a good headstart on the mandatory interactive recitations. The technical report due the prior week had been the first tripping stone, seeing their list of materials and methods had been incomplete, due to Tony's slip up. “We got the outline all set up, Tones. Course, conclusions and recommendations are still out.”  
  
Satisfied, Stark Jr threw two thumbs up at them and leaned back in his chair. “Cool. So now we got X-ray Diffraction Study, which is a piece of cake. Hens, what'cha got?” Henley adjusted his glasses with a nervous cough and took a sip of his cocoa before he looked at Tony. “I've started on calculating the structure factor for ordered tetragonal and disordered face centered cubic phases of CoPt equiatomic alloy. But somehow...”

The redhead looked embarrassed. “... extra diffraction reflections occurs, and those superlattice lines are of much lower in intensity than the fundamental lines. I don't know if that's the way it's supposed to be, or not.“ Mike groaned and raised a hand. “Can you just talk normal, Henny? I need to write in English.” His comical grimace brought the table some much-needed laughter and relief.

Tony then lunged over the table to turn Henley's notes around for him to inspect. Soon after, he nodded. “You've taken the wrong ratio for the superlattice peak's intensity, that's why. It's gotta be like this...” He grabbed his pen and began to scribble over the other boy's notes, tongue in the corner of his mouth. Bruce glimpsed at Tony's smallish handwriting. And frowned soon after.

“No. If S2 = 3(Tc – T)/Tc, then it's gotta be Vo = 4kBTc.”  
His best friend stopped writing on the spot, pen in mid-air.  
“What was that?”

Stoic as always, Bruce repeated his objection. Tony clicked the pen shut and narrowed his eyes.  
“Are you trying to say my math is wrong or what? Who's been mind farting _you?!”_  
Sour, Wayne Jr crossed his arms. Unbeknownst to them, Henley drew back his papers.

“If _you_ can't get the Bragg-Williams theory right, you're probably not as genius as you think.”

Silence at the table. Glimpsing from one to the other, all remaining group members seemed to wait for the proverbial other shoe to drop, as Tony stared Bruce down with unknown hostility. “Screw you, Bruce, alright? I've done more in my first year at MIT than you'll ever get on your plate, so scale back a little there, will ya? Last time I checked, _I_ didn't have all straight C's.”

With a vicious scrape of the chair, Bruce shot up and grabbed his backpack.  
“I don't have to put up with this shit, okay? Genius on how to get home yourself, you prick!”  
Melanie stood up from where she sat wedged between Henley and the wall.

“Bruce, no! Please, stay here.”  
An angry shake of the head was her answer as the Gothamite grabbed his coat and stormed out of the little café.  
The sullen girl sat back down and jabbed a finger at their youngest.

“That's all your fault. You and your big, stupid mouth.”  
Tony pushed his jaw out and drew unintelligible circles on the corner of his textbook.  
“He started it.”

Even though the five of them tried to get some more work in, the mood was ruined. After everybody had sat in front of their respective beverages with long faces for the longest time, Tony threw some bills on the table with a glum expression and mumbled his farewells. He refused to share a bus ticket for the way back with Henley and left without further preamble.

Only when the youngster found himself all alone on the heavily snowed-in sidewalk of Putnam Avenue to the approaching signs of yet another blizzard, he regretted his decision with each trudging step. Due to a roadblock, he also had to take a detour at Pleasant Street. Tony's way home, therefore, got prolonged by a good thirty minutes.

When the Stark heir finally arrived back at their apartment, he was covered in many layers of snow. They fell off his shoulders and got soaked up on the carpet as he swung around to kick the door shut with venom. Tony then slammed his messenger bag in a corner and cursed out. Bruce stuck his head out of his room and morphed the grin that attempted to break free into a blank mask.

“There you are. Enjoyed the walk?”  
He leaned into the doorway and watched how Tony kicked off his boots.  
Enraged, Stark then pulled off his woolen hat and threw his brown, suede gloves at him.  
  
“You _left_ me there! You left me to walk on foot through the snow! _You heartless bastard!”_  
The Gothamite crossed his arms in front of his chest, the hint of a sneer completely gone.  
“It's not that far.”  
  
Bruce's voice sounded not as apologetic as Tony would have wanted and expected it to sound.  
“I'm getting a cold, I can feel it. Maybe even the Flu. Thanks to you.”  
He gave a hacking cough for emphasis and slumped down on the couch, lying down and covering his eyes with an arm.  
  
Wayne stole a glimpse at him, uncertain regret upon his face.  
“D'you want... some tea maybe?”  
Like a defiant child, Tony shook his head behind his arm. His coat darkened with melted snow.

“I want you to make this up to me, B, and there's only one way to.” He took his arm away in an overly dramatic gesture and fixated his roommate with a serious glint in his eyes. “You're going home with me for the holidays at my family's place in New York.” Tony Stark gave a few hacking coughs and curled himself up on the couch. It was with firm reluctance that Bruce Wayne agreed, driven by guilty feelings.

The cold Tony complained about at great length, however, never came; not even on the way from Massachusetts to New York.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Having never written Tony's parents, I just hope I got this right somehow..

“Jarvis!”  
  
With a whoop, Tony spread his arms wide and engulfed the tall, gray-haired butler in a heartfelt embrace. After a few moments, Edwin Jarvis then held him at arms' length and looked his protege up and down. A benign smile found its way over his weathered countenance.

“Tony – my, have you grown.”  
The young genius broke into a laugh and slapped his forearm.  
“Stop lying, J. Guess I'll never make it over 5'7 in this lifetime. Unlike this lucky, big oaf here.”

From where he had loitered behind Tony in the doorway, Bruce Wayne found himself being dragged into the foyer of the of the huge town house on Fifth Avenue. After being introduced to the family's butler, he and Tony brushed off the snow from their shoulders and shed their coats. Tony then ushered his best friend inside, towards the flickering fireplace in the salon.

A petite, dark-haired woman in a burgundy-colored costume rose from her place on a couch and placed her book aside. The Gothamite immediately saw the heavy resemblance between mother and son. Tony Stark's large, soulful eyes and the certain melancholy they exuded had sprung from her side, together with the gift of dark, thick and wavy hair.

Maria Stark wore hers perfectly coiffed back with a decent velvet headband, down to her shoulders. Around her neck, a pearl necklace shimmered in the warm light of the flickering flames. Bruce swallowed and focused on the item until Maria Stark came to stand in front of him and extended her hand. Cheeks flushed, Bruce rushed to mimic the gesture and glanced up at her face.

“Bruce, how lovely that you decided to join us for dinner.”  
Tony's mother gave him a warm smile that he returned, albeit a bit abashed.  
“Thank you for the invitation, Mrs. Stark”

With a high, clear laugh she brushed her hand over his cheek. Bruce fought the urge to squirm. “Oh, please, call me Maria. It's so good to see Tony's made some friends at college, molto bene. He never brings anyone home - so this is a very special occasion, credo così.” Her voice sounded very different when she spoke Italian, much deeper and a lot warmer.

Different waves of energy then flooded the room when another presence stood in the doorway.

Howard Stark, a man in his mid-sixties with a dark mustache and graying hair, was of medium height, rather slim, and had smart but cold, brown eyes. He also had a demanding presence that made everybody stop what they were doing and get to their feet. From his place near the fireplace, Tony unconsciously straightened up and took his hands out of his pockets.

He remained where he was, however, and Howard Stark did not move forward either.

Instead, he squinted at him from head to toe, eyebrows curling with something akin to disdain at the Mohawk-inspired, gelled modern hairstyle, and eccentric outfit of his only son. Despite the festive occasion, Tony had decided on wearing a pair of white, if a bit dirty high-top Reebok sneakers, a pair of faded, tight Wrangler jeans, and a white and blue Fila track jacket on top of a red t-shirt that said 'Life sucks, then you die'.

Bruce had tried to argue with him before they left Boston, but Stark Jr had been adamant about his choice; almost stubborn.

“Anthony.”  
It was a flat, emotionless statement. One which prompted Tony to ever so slightly tilt his head.  
“Father.”

Howard's eyes then moved over to take Bruce Wayne's appearance in. Something about the Gothamite seemed to be to the patriarch's liking as he mustered Bruce's tall and athletic stance. With favor, he nodded at the expensive combo of navy blue v-neck sweater over a light blue dress shirt, and the neatly ironed pair of corduroy pants in dark camel Bruce wore.

Upon knowing they were going to visit Tony's parents, Bruce had also gone to get his messy hair cut; short through the top, with mid length layers through the back. For the occasion, he had even made an effort and blow-dried it off the face, thus giving him a clean, crisp look. With an air of appreciation, Howard walked towards him and extended a hand.  
  
“You must be Bruce Wayne.”  
Compared to his rather average build, Stark senior's handshake was more than firm.  
“Yes, Sir. Thank you for the invitation, Mister Stark.”  
  
The latter made a dismissive gesture with his left and went over to the nearby house bar.  
“I usually work during the Holidays, but Maria loves these dinners. Let's not waste more time.”  
Bruce tried to catch Tony's eye as they marched towards a vast and tastefully decorated dining room.

His best friend had a pinched look on his face and plopped down on a chair next to him. The butler named Jarvis reappeared soon after and began to serve the three-course dinner. In between lamb with fennel sausage and eggplant, cannelloni with tomato sauce and hazelnut salad, the conversation was slow and strained. Unusual for him, Tony kept his mouth shut and munched on his food.

It was then that Howard Stark put his cutlery aside, steepled his fingers, and observed the second young man opposite of him with a calculating, intense look. “Now, Bruce, I was told you're studying physical sciences?” Wayne Jr gave a brief nod and also put down his fork and knife. He cleared his throat once. “Yes, Sir.” The smirk that played on Howard Stark's lips was so familiar that Bruce had to refrain from staring.

Even if Tony had inherited most of his mother's looks, he was a chip off the old Stark block when it came to facial expressions. It was eerie; almost like looking at a future mirror. “I see. So no further doctor in the Wayne household. You know, I do remember your father well, Bruce. A true shame about your parents. They were always trying to do good for the people of Gotham, you know? To have them go and take both of their lives? Tragic.”  
  
When Bruce fell silent, Tony eyed his friend with growing concern. Wayne's jaw was set tighter than moments ago, even though he tried to stay polite and nodded. Tony then tried to divert and take the brunt of his father's inquisitive, dissecting interest away from Bruce and piped up. “I've decided on Robotics next semester. See if they can teach me what I don't already know.”  
  
His father cast him a look through narrowed eyes as if he were an insect under a microscope.  
“You should have taken that class last year. I never taught you all that dilly-dallying around.”  
Tony clamped his mouth shut and attacked the eggplant on his plate with sullen defensiveness.

Howard Stark eyed the tall Gothamite and his rigid posture with something akin to wishful regret. “I bet _you_ never laze around campus, Bruce, you seem far too disciplined for that.” Wayne's cheeks began to gain a heated color. His fingers went for his collar to give it a tug. “I... do my best, Sir.” He cast a furtive glance to the left at his best friend. Tony did not return it. Howard nodded.  
  
“Makes all the difference. Doing your best. Every day. But when you're of the gifted kind...”  
  
Stark senior paused to reach inside his jacket, produced a slim cigarette and lit it without paying attention to the unfinished plates of his family and guest. Again he looked at Bruce. “At age four, Tony built his first circuit board; at age six his first engine.” Howard wedged the cigarette between his fingers and raised the glass of scotch to his lips. He glanced around the small circle before observing his son.

“You'd think he'd have his act together by now.”

“Howard.”  
Maria's quiet voice cut through the tense situation. Tony put his tableware aside with a clatter.  
“What's that supposed to mean?”

Bruce began to clench and unclench his fists around the fabric of his pants under the table.  
  
“You're going down the lazy route, Anthony, don't think we wouldn't know. It's not what I've taught you Stark men are made of. Less partying and less drinking would do you some good.” The sneer that appeared on his son's face was derogative. “I've only learned from the best.” Howard Stark slammed his glass back on the table. Maria and Bruce both flinched.

“You little, ungrateful lad. Whom do you think you owe all of this, huh?”  
Father and son glared at each other over the table, before Tony caved in and looked away.  
“So what? It doesn't mean sh-... anything to me.”

Howard pulled the hem stitch dinner napkin from his lap and threw it aside. He pushed his chair back with a rough sound and loomed above the table. “You should have stayed in Boston then, instead of ruining Christmas for your mother and me.” Also aggravated, Tony pushed out his jaw. “Don't worry, I'll leave soon enough.” His father took his half-filled tumbler and threw him a final, disparaging glare.

“Fine. I'll be in my office, Maria. Don't bother with dessert.”  
Maria Stark cast her husband a pleading look.  
“Howard, please, don't do this now.”

The door to the dining room slammed shut behind him. While Bruce continued to stare at his plate, looking like he wanted to try and become invisible, Tony broke out into a sarcastic laugh. “Tis the season!“ His mother dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her napkin and threw him a reprimanding look. “Why do you always have to start a fight, Antonio? You know how your father is.”

Her disappointed voice made her son even more upset. He leaned over the table towards her. “Because I'm sick and tired of him treating me like a piece of trash, mother! Why are you always on his side? Why don't you _never,_ _ever_ stand on my side?” Tony's voice rose several octaves and hitched, which only made him even irater. Maria Stark looked ready to cry.

“Tony, stop.”  
Bruce spoke up without thinking. It baffled his friend, and the two shared a look.  
“If you boys excuse me for a moment.”  
  
The woman got up and walked out of the room to follow her husband. The two teenagers sat alone at the big teak wood dinner table and poked listlessly at their remaining food. “Get the punchline here, Moosh? Even if you _have_ parents, they still can make you feel fuckin' alone.” Tony eventually threw his fork aside and stood up. “C'mon, let's go upstairs. I'll ask Jarvis to bring us some dessert.”  
  
Wayne Jr cast a last, helpless look around the deserted area and complied without complaint. Neither of Tony's parents showed up again.

* * *

Soon, Edwin Jarvis brought them two large mugs of hot chocolate, a plate full of almond flavored cookies, and a big piece of Italian pandoro cake for each. They were sitting in Tony's room, surrounded by large posters of AC/DC, Led Zeppelin, and many pictures of fighter jets or space rockets. The lights were turned off, except for a small nightstand lamp that cast diffuse prisms on the wall. Tony slurped on his cocoa.

“I'm sorry you had to witness this.”  
Bruce focused on Tony's delicate, bare feet underneath too wide and too long pajama pants.  
“It's not your fault, okay? Nothing's your fault.”

The shorter boy surprised him by leaning into him so that their shoulders touched. “The way my father looked at you... I know he wishes things were different. Guess he always pictured me to be someone else. Someone more like you. Someone representable, someone looking like he'd be able to take over the world from him one day, forge his empire. Whatever.”

Bruce made an indignant sound in the back of his throat.  
“That's not true. Your father doesn't even know me.”  
Tony focused on a faint little cocoa smudge on Bruce's upper lip with affection.  
  
“My father doesn't know me either. Yet he hates me. Whoop Dee Doo. 1:0 for you.”  
When Tony licked his thumb and reached out to wipe it away, Bruce did not even flinch.  
“Your father doesn't _hate_ you, Tony. What kind of thought is that? He just doesn't...”

“Doesn't what?”  
Tony's thumb rested on the corner of Bruce's lip, as his eyes narrowed in question.  
“... doesn't know much about you, y'know? What moves you, interests you, I... don't know.”  
  
With a thoughtful expression, Tony drew his hand back and exhaled through half-opened lips.  
“Let's go somewhere else for New Year's Eve. I can't stand being here the whole time.”  
He put his empty mug aside, next to Bruce's, and snuggled up even closer to his side.

The Gothamite then was forced to extend an arm to hold him in a comforting embrace.  
“Sure. If you want to.”  
Tony nodded against his shoulder.

“I'm sorry for calling you out on your grades the other day. At the café. I... shouldn't have.”  
Bruce hid his surprise well. After a while, he nodded into the semi-darkness.  
“It's okay. I shouldn't have overreacted, too.”

Tony's right hand was wound around Bruce's waist from behind. His fingers closed around the other boy's hip. “Couldn't stand the thought of us not being friends anymore, Moosh. Say we'll stay friends.” His voice was haunting; whispered. Wayne moved his head to look down at him. “Course we will.” For a while, they sat propped up against the wall on the blankets, legs stretched out, and did not speak.

Bruce's hand then began to run up and down Tony's slim upper arm in a steady rhythm.  
At some point, the younger boy's breath evened out.  
Wayne sat as still as he could, felt his feet getting cold, and listened on as Tony slept.

 


	9. Chapter 9

“If you play this song one more time, I swear I'll kick your butt down that slope outside!”  
  
Bruce attempted to lunge at his friend who danced past him with his big, chrome Panasonic RX-5350 on the shoulder, singing along at the top of his lungs. Tony skipped sideways with grace and poise to escape getting smacked upon the head. He was wearing a cozy, woolen turtleneck, borrowed from Bruce's suitcase without asking, and a bold grin.

“Doooo they know it's Christmas time at allllllll?”  
  
They had arrived at the little chalet high up in the mountains of Aspen on the 26th December, right after the fateful dinner night at the Stark household. Howard and Maria had taken it stone faced when their son and his guest left for the seldom used family retreat in Colorado. After a long, five-hour flight, the boys had arrived in the ski resort around 4 in the morning and fell flat on their faces from exhaustion.

The next day, they examined their location and went downtown to get a decent breakfast at a café, and some skiing clothes from a boutique. The change in Tony's mood and behavior was palpable. Gone were the hunched shoulders and the morose looks he cast his surroundings. Things were also far more carefree than back at MIT, without studying and schedules.

If anything, Bruce figured Tony was truly happy, as he watched him sashaying through the comfortable living area.

The walls and the roof were made from thick wooden logs, giving the whole lodge a rustic feel. Plush carpets pooled under their feet, and the walls were decorated with paintings of deer or other hunting-related topics. The nearby kitchen area was modest but practical, and there was a massive staircase leading to the upper floor of the sleeping quarters and the bathroom.

“Feeeeeeed the wooooorld....”  
_“TONY!”_  
Eventually, Bruce was fast enough to hit the right switch, to which the cassette tape stopped.

“Spoilsport.”

Instead of acknowledging him, the Gothamite squatted back down to fiddle with his new ski bindings. He assumed a cross legged position on the carpet and grabbed for the unused pair of boots to adjust both items to the right size. “Have you ever been on skis?” Tony's question was honest. He put his boom box on the table and threw himself belly-forward onto the leather couch, next to the bearskin rug and the fireplace.

Wayne cast him a rotten glance upwards and snapped the plastic strap shut.  
  
“Two words: Black diamond.”  
Upon Tony's clueless look, Bruce put up a wolfish grin.  
“Ooh, we'll have fun, later on, I'm sure.”

* * *

  
For the second time in ten minutes, Tony was sitting on his behind in the cold.

His brand-new, red-golden skiing suit with matching woolen hat stood out like a sore spot amongst all the white. He slammed an arm into the snow and cursed out loud. With an experienced half skid to the left, Bruce came to a standstill in front of him, snow fountains splaying Stark Jr's way. Wayne, dressed in a white-blue skiing suit and a huge pair of metallic, mirrored ski goggles, grinned down at his miffed friend.

“Come on, stop dawdling. We'll never make it to the bottom – other than yours.”  
Miffed, the Stark heir grabbed a handful of snow and hurled it into Bruce's direction.  
“Eat my shorts Wayne, and help me up.”

What little part of Bruce's face was visible twisted with amusement. He offered a gallant, gloved hand to pull the shorter boy back on his skis and pushed his goggles up on his woolen hat. “Your skiing experience boils down to exactly _how_ many lessons again?” Tony also moved the shades upon his forehead and cast him a mean glare. Their cheeks held rosy tints while the goggles had carved solid lines around their eyes.

“Yes, fine, I went here last when I was nine, okay? And not on skis, but mostly on a sled. Happy?”  
Bruce put a thickly gloved hand under his nose, rubbed against the cold, and sniffed.  
“I can still teach you if you like. I started to learn when I was five; it's not that hard.”  
  
The Stark scion scoffed and pulled his shades back over his eyes.  
“Of course it ain't hard. Specially not for me. I'm a...”  
Bruce snapped his goggles back on and groaned.  
  
“... a genius, yes I know. Got the memo ages ago." Tony then made the mistake of pointing one of his skiing sticks at him. “You know me less than two years, and better shove those snarky remarks right where you...” The front of his skis got caught as he tried to trudge forward and in a comical move, he flopped down in a flailing heap.

When Bruce caught his breath from bending over laughing, he adjusted his goggles and hat. “I think you're doing this on purpose, but it's great. How bout I'll come by to collect you later on?” After Tony swore at him for the longest time, Bruce set out to take off with a brief wave. Full of envy, the shorter boy watched his friend weave on his skis with expertise and grace.

After Tony picked himself up and managed to attempt a solid stance, his mouth formed a determined line. He re-gripped the loops of the skiing sticks tight and got into a squatted position to maintain enough balance to follow Bruce downwards. Gaining speed was easy, and Tony grinned as Bruce's lone figure came back into sight.

He set out to scare him once he would be in appropriate range but had not calculated upon Wayne Jr drawing a wide arc to the side just then, oblivious to Tony's devilish plans behind his back. It caused the Stark scion to lose his balance for the umpteenth time, and with a loud yelp, he went down; a tangled mess of arms and legs and the skis and sticks left behind in a trail.

Bruce turned around just as Tony finished his one-man avalanche stunt and skidded to a snow-covered stop a couple of feet behind him. Wayne slowed down with a smooth hockey stop and took in the scenery with a shake of the head. “You should take money and make this a daily show round here. You'd get rich... oh, no, wait.” He choked down another bout of laughter when his friend did not react.  
  
“Tony?”  
  
From where he lay prone on his stomach, the younger boy remained unresponsive to Bruce's calls. Alarmed, the elder boy unstrapped his skis, threw his sticks aside and trudged back over to where his friend lay. Bruce dropped to his knees next to him and touched his shoulder. “Hey, Tony, c'mon here – can you hear me? Are you hurt? Tony?”

Unbeknownst to him, a faint smirk started to form on Stark's lips. The Gothamite then attempted to turn him over onto his back, his moves starting to become more frantic. Tony kept his eyes shut even as he felt Bruce remove his goggles. A few seconds later, a warm hand was on his cheek and his neck, feeling for a pulse. “Please, hey, Tony, come on, don't do this, hey!”

The patting became more insistent, and Tony heard him take off his own goggles. With a fast unseen move, Tony's right hand grabbed a decent load of snow and reached up to rub it all over Wayne's face. The colorful curses that escaped the Gothamite's mouth were spluttered as the frozen attack sent him stumbling backward.

“AHAAAA – there you go, mean old scumbag!”  
  
Quick to hurl himself at his best friend with a warrior's scream, Tony attempted to stuff another huge fistful of snow down Bruce's skiing suit. The latter managed to throw him off and sat up, red in the face from melted ice and agitation. “Goddamn fool! I thought you were hurt!” Instead of an answer, a snowball hit him square in the chest. Incensed, Bruce stared from it over to a rambunctious looking Tony and back.

His pointed index finger and threatening glare brought him another direct hit to the shoulder, and it was then that Bruce Wayne decided he had played nice long enough. The snowball fight that ensued led to two pairs of soaked thermals, one broken pair of ski goggles, a woolen hat gone missing, and a declared Gothamite as the winner, sitting on Tony's back and creaming his nape with snow until Stark Jr yelled out his defeat.

 


	10. Chapter 10

It was not until they were back at the chalet, frozen to the bone when Tony noticed something was wrong with his friend. Bruce was avoiding his eyes and responding even less to his usual quips. When confronted, the Gothamite simply shook his head and plopped down in front of the fireplace. Subdued, Tony slid next to him onto the couch and handed him a steaming mug.

“Want some marshmallows with that?”  
“No.”  
“Some whipped cream?”

“No!”  
Tony gnawed on his bottom lip.  
“Want some...”

Exasperated, Bruce's head shot up from where he had stared into the cocoa.  
“I want you to NEVER do something like that again, you hear?!”  
Tony jerked back, almost spilling his own hot chocolate onto the couch.

“It was just a joke, Moosh, why are you getting so freaked out?”  
Jaw set tight, Bruce turned away from him until Tony was only able to make out his profile.  
"For a moment, I thought you were dead, alright? And I've seen... they were... they got..."  
  
Angry all of a sudden, Wayne Jr slammed his cup on the table in front and escaped towards the huge window front.  
"My parents died in front of me, okay? And no, I _don't_ want to talk about it, like, now - or _ever_."  
After a few heartbeats, the leather of the couch creaked as Tony rose.

"Anything I can do? Apart from not being a jerk in the future?"  
Despite his state of glum, Bruce forced himself to try for a humorless smile.  
"Don't give me your sympathy, I've had enough of that."  
  
Stark Jr willed his eyes to stay steady, nodded, and went to fetch both their mugs.  
"I still think these need some kind of improvement."  
When he returned, Bruce's cocoa was buried under a thick layer of whipped cream, marshmallows and chocolate chips.

* * *

  
“What do you mean we're out of firewood?”  
Tony plucked at a thread of Bruce's pullover. It was still the only one he wore since their arrival.  
“I kinda used up the last few logs, earlier on. We forgot to bring some.”

Bruce groaned out and shook his head.  
“So now what? We're going to turn into ice sculptures up here?”  
Stark jr. waved him off with a nonchalance his young age could not back up.  
  
“Nah, we'll just stay down here as long as the fire's still on. Plus, the blankets are really warm.”  
Skeptical, Wayne glanced from the fireplace to the staircase and back.  
“Are you trying to comfort me or yourself?”

Once they laid down under big white eiderdown blankets and turned off the lights, the cold began to creep into their room. The cottage was not sheltered from the wind, moreover not thoroughly insulated, and the boys heard and felt the gusts whipping outside against the logs.

“Can we t-t-turn on som-m-e mmmusic?”  
Bruce stopped rubbing cold forearms underneath the blanket and raised his head.  
“So I don't have to listen to your teeth chattering? Yeah, go ahead.”  
  
“Shut-t-t up-pppp.”  
The heap of blanket that was Tony moved until a thin arm appeared and fumbled for the boombox.  
Within seconds, quiet sounds from the radio filled the air.

“Will you just admit that you're freezing.”  
“Am n-n-not-t.”  
“Okay, if you don't want me to think of something to provide more warmth, fine.”

Silence. Bruce drew his legs closer to his torso and tried to move as little as possible.  
“W-what would that b-be? Just... hyp-p-p-othetically asking?”  
The elder boy grinned along to himself in the semi-darkness of the bedroom.

“It's basically like treating hypothermia, my dad told me. You use an external source to conserve steady temperature. If there's no heater, then body-to-body contact will do as well.” His voice sounded very matter-of-fact, but Bruce found himself biting down on his bottom lip as he waited for a reply. Instead of one, Tony rustled around until he stood up, blanket clutched tight around his small frame, and tiptoed over.

He stumbled into the space his friend vacated for him and buried them both under two blankets.  
“This b-b-better worksss.”  
Wayne gave an indignant squeak when Tony's ice-cold hands brushed against his arm.  
  
“It will. And I know who's going to chop some firewood first thing in the morning.” Tony shifted until they were face to face, but kept his hands balled into fists close to his chest. “And you're gonna look so fierce doing it, Moosh, the full lumberjack program.” One finger then reached out to poke against Bruce's biceps. The elder boy grimaced without malice.  
  
“You really think your charm is going to work on each and everyone, don't you?”  
Bruce was whispering, even though they were alone.  
Tony graced him with a smile that drifted off into a yawn. His finger trailed down to brush along Bruce's chest before he tugged it back.

“If it works on you, I'm good.”  
He inched closer and twisted until Bruce was spooning behind him.  
“You're the one where it matters most.”

Hesitant, the Gothamite put his arm around Tony's waist and felt him intertwine their cold feet.  
“'s nice. And warm. Good idea, B. For once.”  
Young Bruce Wayne snorted ever so quietly and nudged the body in front with his shoulder.  
  
“What's that supposed to mean? I always got the best ideas.”  
The tiny smile on the smaller boy's lips went past Bruce unnoticed.  
With the familiar scent of Drakkar Noir in his nose, he put his face close to Tony's neck and closed his eyes.  
  
They drifted off to the far away sounds of 'Take my breath away' on the radio.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song 'Take My Breath Away' by Berlin, 1986  
> (no Top Gun references, please)


	11. Chapter 11

When New Year's eve rolled around, Bruce had acquired a large stack of freshly chopped firewood. In return, Tony had gone and made himself useful by setting up the biggest and most loaded punch Bruce had ever fastened his eyes upon. “Could there be more alcohol in it?” Wayne Jr eyed the half-empty bottles of champagne, brandy, and liquor on the counter with skepticism.

Tony licked his thumb and threw away the remains of cut-up fruit he had used. “Some sparkling wine's still missing, you're right. But that'll only goes in after four more hours.” He heaved the heavy glass bowl into the fridge and bumped the door shut with his hip. “You're looking sweaty and messy, Moosh, time to hop in the shower. Hurry up, I'm hungry.”

Bruce reemerged twenty minutes later, cheeks rosy, hair damp, and dressed in a hooded sweater and jeans. He found his friend lazing on the couch, watching TV. CBS showed an hour of 'Bugs Bunny's Mad World of Television', and Tony's howling bursts of his laughter had echoed through all of the chalet, up to the bathroom. Stark J chewed on his second pack of Twizzlers and had a glass of punch in his hand.

Bruce threw himself next to his friend on the plush couch and grabbed the last string of licorice from the pack. Indignant, Tony put down his glass and stubbed Bruce's thigh with his toes. “HEY!” Chewing open-mouthed on purpose, Wayne gave a wide grin. “This here your idea of eating fancy dinner or what?” With a little swing for momentum, Tony got to his socked feet and paddled over into the kitchen.

He came back with a glass for Bruce and two empty plates. Another round to the fridge revealed not only the previously prepared punch, but also a huge stack of sandwiches. “Tada!” Bruce eyed the crooked pile of bread, turkey, ham, and pickles with interest. “Uh-huh.” Arms akimbo, Tony jutted out a hip. “What's that supposed to mean, Mister? I've been working my butt off in that kitchen for hours!”

At his high-pitched voice, Bruce almost keeled over laughing. “Yeah, like, totally! Geez, no, don't go... come back here, sweet wifey, c'mon.” Tony grabbed a cushion from the nearby wing chair and hurled it at his friend before he threw himself headfirst at a still chuckling Bruce Wayne. Due to weight and height differences, Stark Jr soon was forced to admit defeat, pressed backwards into the couch, hands in the air.

“ARGH! Get off me, you big ogre!”  
A final, amicable ruffle to his meanwhile ruined hair, then Bruce let go and sat back.  
Tony groused at him as he tried to repair the damage done, albeit in vain. Then he snuffed.

“Rowdy. I ain't sharing my food with ya.”  
Bruce pushed out his bottom lip before he was quick to snatch a sandwich and took a bite.  
“Hm. Not bad. Quite edible even.”

* * *

The punchbowl was almost as empty as the sandwich platter by the time midnight rolled around.

Bruce Wayne's cheeks held a constant rosy tint from where he lay sprawled on the couch, one leg up on its headrest, and chewed on yet another Twizzlers candy. Tony sat cross-legged on the floor in front of his parents' HiFi stacking stereo system, a collection of various records strewn all around as he played disc jockey. They had gone over to muting the TV, watching only for the Times Square Ball Drop in less than ten minutes.

“Oh man, look at that! Ready for a real blast from the past here, Moosh?”

Tony scrambled to his feet, wiping the vinyl on his sleeve with care. The typical crackle from the record echoed through the room at first, then the sounds of 'Heart and Soul' from The Cleftones filled the air. Tony grabbed his glass of punch from the mantelpiece of the fireplace. With grace in his steps he then began to dance back into Bruce's direction, singing along.  
  
_“Heart and soul, I fell in love with you. Heart and soul, the way a fool would do...”_  
When his friend showed no recognition of the 60's song, Tony shook his head with rebuke.  
“Shame on you B, you're older than me. _Heart and soul,_ _I beg to be adored. Yes, then I lost control, and tumbled overboard.._.”

Bruce twisted the licorice before stuffing it into his mouth and glimpsed at the TV. He watched Tony with a mixture between fond- and awkwardness. “Less than two minutes to go. Come here, watch this.” When Bruce tried to focus on the events on screen, Tony sashayed into his line of vision. " _That magic night that we kissed, oh we kissed, there in the moon-mist."_

The Gothamite swallowed and made a move for his glass of punch, downing its contents. _“Oh, but your lips were thrilling, much too much too thrilling....”_ Stark Jr took the empty item from him and put it aside on the couch table. _“Never before were mine so... strangely willing.”_ Tony's voice had gone down in volume until he was only mouthing the lyrics. Bruce then pulled at the front of his shirt to get him out of his line of view.  
  
_'Darling and now I see, what one embrace can do...'_  
The momentum caused the shorter boy to tumble atop of him; arms and legs flailing.  
“Hey!”  
  
_'... come on and look at me, you've got me loving you, madly, that little kiss that you stole...'_  
Bruce grabbed Tony by the chin and forced his head over at the large TV screen.  
“Happy new year, Tony.”  
  
Tony blinked a couple of times as the clock struck midnight and Times Square exploded in confetti and glitter. In the background, The Cleftones were singing the final chorus, and the words _'Oh, you stole, yes you stole – all my heart, heart and soul'_ repeated themselves. Warm fingers were still cupping his chin, and so Tony turned his head with care to look Bruce in the eye.

“Happy new year, Moosh.”  
Without thinking, he then pressed his closed lips square upon the slightly parted pair of the Gothamite.  
It lasted less than two seconds and lacked any true amorous intent, but when Tony pulled back, he was grinning.

“You're stubbly.”  
Still perplex, Bruce blinked up at him. His brows furrowed.  
“Babyface.”

With a grunt and a clumsy half-roll, Tony plunged into the unoccupied corner of the sofa. “Tsk. Romance is alive.” He then gave a hearty yawn and was asleep five minutes later. Bruce got up, swayed a little on his feet, and went to take the tonearm off the record. He looked over to where Stark Jr was snoring softly, cheek pressed into the couch. Wayne Jr resumed his place and continued to watch the muted spectacle on TV.

Ever so often, his gaze would linger on Tony, and the corners of his mouth curved into a small smile.

  
**END of Part II**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Heart and Soul' by The Cleftones, 1961


End file.
